


Gold Dust: Glamorize

by MindNoise



Series: Gold Dust [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindNoise/pseuds/MindNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little sequel to the first Gold Dust. more lap dancing porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold Dust: Glamorize

**Author's Note:**

> in case you missed the first one - http://archiveofourown.org/works/744289

Tommy unscrews the lid off his jar of gold dust. It’s a small, glass jar, and he handles it carefully. When he came up with the idea of painting himself gold, Raja had loved it. When he added that he wanted real crushed gold to dust on top of the paint, Raja had balked, then made it happen. He didn’t ask from where she obtained the gold, and she didn’t offer the information, but she did tell him that if he wanted to do this costume often, he’d have to charge the clients more to keep himself in gold dust supply. He only wanted to do this once in a while, not nightly. Not even weekly. It was just an idea, something different, unique.

He’d tried it out a few weeks ago on a client. The gold made him feel sexy, exotic. In fact, he felt so empowered by the dust and the reaction he was getting, that he even started jerking off with his client, which was something he never did. Not with clients. He either waited until after he was back in the dressing room, or didn’t bother at all. Most of the time he didn’t bother at all. This was just a job. But that night felt different. He felt different. The new costume, the finely crushed gold raining down onto the black carpet as he moved, the appreciative, lusty shine in his client’s blue eyes. Adam. That was his name, Adam. He remembered regulars’ names eventually, after their third or fourth time in, but Adam had been a first timer, and Tommy hadn’t forgotten his name when he walked out of the room like he usually did. And Adam was due back in an hour. 

Tommy carefully shakes gold dust into the small lid of the jar, and grabs a make up brush. He swirls the bristles in the dust and begins brushing it over his face and neck, careful not to get it into his eyes. He wonders, and not for the first time, how much longer he's going to do this job. As far as jobs go, it could be worse. He works a set schedule at night, makes killer money, has control over his environment and setting, music, and costuming. He doesn't even have to talk to anyone, which is awesome since he's verbally shy by nature and wouldn't have a clue what to say to men who are looking for dirty dialogues. 

Some of his fellow dancers have been at this club for years. Tommy doesn't want it to come down to that. It's just a job for him, not a career. Although, he likes fantasy, playing a role, and being in charge of that role, he could care less if the clients get off or not. It's a rather flippant attitude, but the fact that he can't even speak and they can't touch makes that attitude easy. It also seems to make some clients enamored with him. He's had plenty of clients leave their phone numbers, business cards, pleas for just one date scribbled on ragged pieces of paper or cocktail napkins when they leave. Tommy never keeps them. They lie discarded on top of his makeup table, and when he returns after his next appointment, they're gone. He assumes Raja throws them away. 

In the year that Tommy's been doing this job, he's managed to remain emotionally detached from it. He's seen dancers get involved with clients, and it didn't end well. Some clients can't seem to remove the dancers from their job and see them as real people, not whores or fantasies. He's seen friends crushed by this, emotionally and occasionally physically, and he's not going down that road for anyone. He’s being paid to coerce someone else to get off. It has nothing to do with him, per se; it’s the fantasy. He can get himself hard for a client - what man can't make himself hard? - but it's just to feed an illusion. He'd rather be doing something more meaningful, like music, but in the meantime, this will do. 

He finishes dusting his shoulders, chest, arms, and legs. He retouches the black and gray shadow on his eyes and applies the gold lipstick. He slips on shimmery black harem pants, which reflects the gold nicely. He checks the ipod that's hooked to the speakers in the next room, his dancing room. It’s so awesome that he gets to choose his music and it can be anything he wants. Since he’s stripping down for strangers to jerk off over, he should at least get to do it to his own tunes. Today, he's playing an assortment of his own music. There are no lyrics, it's all instrumental, recorded with a couple of friends. He might really clean it up one day, and use it as a demo cd. In the meantime, work calls, so he straightens the harem pants, pats his hair, and checks the clock. Clients are expected to arrive ten minutes before their appointment, so that they can get settled, and the dancer can begin directly on time. Raja is strict about her time. Time is money, money is time. He sees that it is indeed time, and leaves the dressing room. 

Tommy pauses outside his room. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and centers himself in this fantasy of being a gold covered sex symbol. This is Adam’s time, and he’s here to please him. Tommy opens his eyes, lifts his chin, and enters the room. 

Adam is seated in the red chair in the middle of the room, and looking expectantly towards him. Tommy sees his face light up when he steps out from behind the curtain, and his stomach flutters. The feeling causes him to pause half a step, but Adam doesn’t notice. He stops in front of Adam, standing there like a gold offering. Adam’s eyes devour him from head to toe. 

“You look like a god,” Adam says with wonder. 

Tommy allows him a slight smile. The compliment pleases the hell out of him, but he restrains himself from showing it. 

He starts swaying to the music, and Adam settles back in the chair, his eyes glued to Tommy. Tommy’s never had dance lessons, but it really isn’t hard to pulse and grind to a beat. The clients aren’t looking for a choreography anyway. They want skin. They want sex. Adam is no exception. He looks ready to eat Tommy as he moves. 

Tommy’s mind switches to autopilot as he dances, and he starts mentally going down a list of things he needs to do before work tomorrow. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband, semi-aware of Adam gripping his cock through his own pants, and slides out of the harem pants. They drop to the floor in a little whirlwind of gold, and he kicks them aside. He steps closer to Adam, focusing on his face, and notices that Adam’s lips are moving, his head is moving slightly to the beat of the music. He stops in front of Adam, staring, and realizes that Adam’s humming along to the song. There are no lyrics, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference to him. It sounds like he’s making up his own lyrics, which fasicnates Tommy.

Tommy slides his hands up his inner thighs, caressing the hip creases, earning a throaty groan from Adam. 

“Take your time,” Adam whispers, and Tommy notes the musicality in his voice. 

Tommy moves his hands over his stomach, up his chest, and nipples. When he tweaks them, Adam unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. Tommy doesn’t give the clients’ dicks a second glance, but he notices Adam’s, stares straight at it. Adam shifts his hips forward, getting his hand around himself, and smiles at Tommy.

“Like what you see?” he grins.

Tommy’s nerves flinch at being caught, but he plays it off, giving Adam a smirk that he hopes is sexy and not nervous. He doesn’t like being nervous with a client, so he decides to turn that around. He straddles Adam’s lap, pulsing his hips up and down, just a breath shy of touching Adam’s hand, currently jerking his cock. Tommy moves his hips up and down in time with Adam’s strokes. He looks Adam directly in the eye, daring. He can see the vein in Adam’s neck pulse rapidly, and he feels triumphant that he’s regained control. 

“You like to be extreme,” Adam comments. “I like that.” 

Tommy reaches over Adam’s shoulder and grabs the back of the chair, leaning back so that his body is long and stretched. Adam’s hand moves faster, his breath melting into gasps and moans. 

“Silent, glamorized,” he whispers, almost to himself. “I wish I could ravage you, feel you, swallow you.”

Tommy turns the tables even more and sits on Adam’s lap. It startles Adam, his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat. Tommy’s allowed to touch Adam if Adam consents, and he has a feeling Adam will consent. Tommy looks in Adam’s eyes. They’re incredibly blue and soulful, something the majority of his clients lack. Adam’s gaze doesn’t look through him at all to some fantasy that’s not even there. It’s looking right in at him. Tommy looks away, his mouth going dry, and he grabs his own cock to get his focus back. When he reaches under the thong and starts stroking himself along with Adam, Adam smiles and relaxes. He even starts humming again. 

Tommy pulses his hips into his hand, matching them to Adam’s strokes as though he were riding Adam. Tommy begins to imagine that he is riding Adam, and his breath hitches. He looks down at Adam’s hand moving faster on his own cock, and Tommy concludes that it is a beautiful cock. Swollen, large, flushed, leaking, and Tommy imagines what it would feel like to actually have Adam in his ass, in his mouth, even just in his hand. The thought of Adam all over him and in him makes him throb. 

Adam groans deeply, his hand jerking and twisting fast. And Tommy does the same. 

“Oh god, come with me, Tommy,” he pleads, his voice breaking he’s so close. “You’ve got to, please.”

Tommy’s body is frantically trying to catch up as Adam comes all over his chest. The sight has Tommy groaning out loud. 

“That’s it,” Adam encourages. “Come on, come for me.”

Tommy’s orgasm is about to shoot through him and out of him when he feels a hand grasp his own. He’s been working under the “no touching” rule for so long that the touch shocks the hell out of him and he jerks back, out of Adam’s reach and off of his lap. 

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” Adam panics. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. Really.”

Tommy looks around the room, as though Raja might be lurking, ready to pounce his ass for allowing a client to break the rules, and fire him. 

Adam stands quickly, tucking himself into his pants and zipping them up.

“Please, I’m sorry,” Adam repeats. “I shouldn’t have, I forgot, you just... looked so beautiful, and... it’ll never happen again, I swear. Tommy, I’m truly sorry.”

Tommy takes a deep breath and re-centers himself. He’d gotten too caught up and that was his fault. He shouldn’t have taken it so far as to sit on Adam’s lap. He motions for Adam to be silent, then smiles, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel. Still smiling, he places his hand over his heart, and gives a small bow, indicating that things are okay, the incident forgiven and forgotten. 

Adam returns the smile with a small one of his own, but he still looks lost. 

“My sincerest apologies,” he says. “I meant no disrespect at all.”

Tommy nods. He bends down and picks up his harem pants, and gives Adam one more slight downward tilt of his head, and turns to leave. Once back in his dressing room, he slumps in his chair, his mind discombobulated, and wonders if there is a next time, would he even stop Adam?


End file.
